Fireworks
by DonLambert
Summary: It's New Years at the Opera Populaire, and while most are at the ball, Erik and Sweeney find their own way to celebrate. Not quite an companion fic to A Dark And Vengeful God. More of an acquaintance fic. One-Shot. Fluffy fluffy fluffy slash!


A/N: Hello there! If you found this, thanks! I wrote this little one-shot on New Year's. I was at my friends, and we wanted to write about New Year's kisses, so I came up with this little idea.

As I said in the description, it's kind of an acquaintance fic to ADAVG. If you've read that, I'll tell you know, it doesn't have anything to do with it's plot. Completely separate. But the same Erik and Sweeney, acting how I'd imagine they'll act in the future. If this'll ruin it for you, kindly wait. If you haven't read A Dark And Vengeful God, my multi-chapter Sweeney/Erik fic, and you like this, I would highly recommend the later.

Also, I would hazard a guess that there may be more random one-shots in the future. I've realized that it's up to me, with help from my friend, to build this fandom to the glorious thing that it should be, because it's a nice pairing with a mutual fanbase, and I write it because I want to read it. So if you write any and spare me the work, you are guaranteed a reader and reviewer.

Jeez, I apologize for being so verbose, I'll shut up now and you can read.

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Fireworks

New Years eve at the Opera Populaire was truly a sight to be held, a scene that one must see to believe. There was the dazzling masquerade ball, each one more opulent and sensational then the last, outdoing the previous year with grander decorations, more chattering guests, better dances, more bottles of wine. The theme this year was the Royal rose garden, with the color scheme of red, black and gold, and there were torrents of crimson roses piled in bouquets along the stair cases, the mirrored walls, the ball rooms. There were gilded fountains, black velvet draped on any available surface, and the orchestra was already set up in the promenade, playing bright, sweeping symphonies under the direction of M. Reyer.

Guests began arriving at 7'o clock, pulling up in carriages drawn by horses in feather caps, grasping friend's arms, gossiping into each other's ears. The managers stood on the front steps, chatting it up with buisness partners as the ranks of the well-to-do of Paris flowed into the Opera houses's great hall, ohs and ahs for the splendid furnishings floated above the gales of laughter.

The costumes, Monsieur Firmin noted, were in impeccable form tonight, glittering dresses and crisp party suits, voluminous skirts of blood red silk or ebony lace swishing as ladies primped their towering hats or embellished wigs. There were feathers, tails, claws, card suits and tricorn hats abound, faces painted like mimes, clowns, or gypsies wherever you looked. The masks, though, were another thing entirely; diamond studded, full faced, ones with pointed noses or ones with streaks of blood, shrouding the entire room of party goers in intrigue, creating whispers in corners and crevices. Mystery.

The wealthy strutted around with champagne flutes, playing guessing games; a show, as with opening gala nights, of who had attended and who had not. If they couldn't recognize you from your face, let them recognize you from the pearls around your neck.

The rest of Paris, however, was out twirling on the dance floor, concerned with nothing but their optimistic intoxication. The stage hands and crew of the opera relished the chance to dress up and dance, spirits high from their free admission into the gala and the promise of a new year, a fresh start. A mask to hide behind, to relax behind without fear of judgement, where you didn't have to be anyone. You could just be happy.

They danced and laughed, watched and breathed, drank and sang the night away as one, stealing away in broad daylight, facing the new year together as a faceless, nameless mass.

It seemed, however, that one of the Opera Poplulaire's residents had forgone the traditional opulent party in favor of his own form of New Year's celebration.

Unable to suppress a grin, the Phantom led a breathless and blindfolded Sweeney Todd up staircases and over cat-walks on their way to the very secret spot he'd promised would be the best place to spend New Year's...

"Where are we going?" Sweeney whined

"Quit asking," Erik snapped playfully, "You'll see in just a minute. I promise, it has a great view."

"A view?"

"The best. Now come on, just up here...be careful, that's a wall...I'll warn you though, it's going to be cold."

"Cold? Erik..."

"Have you guessed?" Erik asked, as they stepped through the door and were hit by the bitter night wind.

"The roof!" Sweeney exclaimed, reaching up for his blindfold.. Gloved hands pushed his away, removing the black piece of cloth for him, and he gazed around the still, empty roof, at the majestic statues standing resolute against years of cold.

"Is this where..."

"Yes," Erik said, smiling at what was by now an old memory. He gestured to the edge of the roof, and Sweeney followed him to look out on the landscape.

Dusk had taken a strong foothold on the horizon, and late arrivals were still stepping out of their carriages down in the square in front of the opera. Music from the orchestra floated up out of the open doors, reaching them even from seventeen stories below. Paris was sprawled out below them, buildings as far as the eye could see lighting up with parties and celebration. Stars were beginning to make their appearances in the clear night sky.

The barber raised an eyebrow. "Wow. That is a view."

"Isn't it gorgeous?"

"Sure, but, ah, not as gorgeous as this," He said, turning to Erik and putting a hand on his chest. He was wearing a particularly nice dress suit with gold embellishments and a beautiful, intricate gold mask that he had never seen before. "You're looking awfully festive." They both laughed, and Sweeney looked down at himself, "Not me, so much."

But Erik grinned, reaching under his cloak and presenting Sweeney with a color scheme appropriate red and black mask. "Just once. To get into the spirit."

He looked at the mask for a long moment. "I can't."

"Come on. It's a masquerade. I've got one on," The Phantom added with a joke, but it made the barber look up suddenly.

"Alright. We'll make a deal, then. I'll put this on if you take yours off."

"No," Erik replied immediately. "...No."

"It's New Years. You can make a resolution to trust me more. And my resolution will be never to break that trust."

He looked down, clearly battling with himself for what to do next.

"One night without the mask. You know that it makes no difference to me, Erik."

The Phantom closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Okay."

Sweeney knew that it was a challenge for the Phantom not to cringe away from the hands that reached up to slowly remove the gold mask and caress his face, that it was an awful inner struggle not to turn away when the barber kissed him gently on his scarred cheek. He took deep, steadying breaths, eyes pressed shut as the barber stood against him, silently willing him to understand that he didn't care, that he never would.

Then Sweeney stepped back, grabbing the red mask, putting it on resolutely and looking up at Erik.

The Phantom stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed, still slightly shocked from having his mask removed, and for a moment Sweeney wondered if he had ruined the whole night, when suddenly he broke out into howls of laughter. "Oh my goodness, Todd. I love you."

Sweeney grinned, and then held out his arms. "Shall we dance?" He asked as the music from below hit a crescendo, sure that that had been Erik's intention when bringing him up here.

Still chuckling, Erik nodded. "Yes."

"I've gone to the ball before, you know." Erik said as they spun, "This is the one night of the year when I'm just like everyone else."

For the rest of the night they danced to the music floating up from the ball, or to their own music when they couldn't hear it, Erik sang and Sweeney listened in rapture, they climbed on statues, walked on ledges, and all sorts of other uncharacteristically irresponsible things that one probably shouldn't do seventeen stories off of the ground.

Eventually they just lay down on their stomachs on the edge of the roof and hung their arms over the side, like trespassing kids, throwing rocks, speculating about the people down stairs at the ball, retelling little stories of their past that they hadn't thought about in god knows how long, making fun of Andre's wardrobe, taking turns listing things that they hated.

"Religious people."

"Religion."

"People."

"You being taller then me."

"Your hair staying like that no matter what the hell you do."

Someone must have heard their wild laughter, they were sure.

"What's that?" Sweeney asked suddenly, pointing down.

Lights were beginning to come on in the square, guests filing out into the street, still singing and laughing. There were other people coming too, joining the growing crowd in front of the opera house. Erik jumped to his feet. "They're gathering for the firework show."

If there was one thing that people looked forward to more then the annual masquerade ball, it was the Opera Populaire's spectacular firework show, the first blast going off at midnight and lasting a half hour afterwards until ending with a gigantic, ground shaking explosion. It brought poor families and rich politicians alike to the opera house steps, all eyes turning skyward to herald in the new year with explosives. The whole city looked forward to it for months in advance. And it ought have, as Erik, prowling through the manager's office, had seen it's spectacular price tag as well.

"Come on," Erik said, pulling Sweeney up and putting an arm around his waist, "They'll be right there above the square, and we'll be right beneath them."

"Won't they, ah, shoot the fireworks off from the roof?" Sweeney asked with a trace of uncertainty.

"Yes, but they'll do it from the back of the roof."

"Won't it be loud?"

"It's a big roof. Don't worry, I'll protect you," Erik teased, knowing how the barber hated it when he said that. The glare that Sweeney have him when he insisted that he was "just wondering," though, was absolutely adorable.

They climbed Apollo's lyre together, finding a perch between the great statue's wings that kept them pressed together as they looked down on the massive crowd. They watched for a while, transfixed, before Erik turned to Sweeney.

"You can take of the mask, if you want. I miss your face."

"Now you know how I feel," Sweeney said straightforwardly, removing the red mask with a small smile.

Erik looked down, checking his pocket watch as an excuse not to reply, "Five minutes..."

Sweeney put his head on Erik's shoulder, and they stayed that way until the count down, snuggled up against each other to fend off the cold as they waited..

Suddenly they heard raised voices, and Erik untangled an arm to check his pocket watch again. "It's time."

"Ten!" Roared the crowd below, and Sweeney nuzzled the Phantom's neck, grinning, holding his breath as Paris counted down the new year.

"Three! Two!...One!"

A gigantic explosion, ecstatic cries of Happy New year from the street as the first blast of fireworks burst to life in the sky, but Erik didn't see any of it, as the barber had pressed his lips against his at that exact second, and their enveloping warmth was rather all he could think about. Sweeney wrapped his arms tighter around his waist and Erik tangled his hands in the barber's hair, holding him there as their lips worked against each other's . The New Year's kiss was a tradition that he'd never had the pleasure of taking part in, but one that he looked forward to keeping next year as well, if they were all as delicious and fervent as this one.

Sweeney pulled away first, looking up at Erik, arms still around him. "I'm a barber, you know. What am I doing here, on the roof of an opera house, with the most wonderful man in the world?"

"Kissing him again. Hopefully."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Fireworks, loud and bright in front of them. Everything, for once, perfect.

"Happy New Year."

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A/N: Please drop me a review! Let me know what you thought! I always reply!

And no, the title has nothing to do with Katy Perry. Or anything. I came up with it rather quickly.

Thanks for reading!


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